Careless
by Pennfana
Summary: Mulder jumps to conclusions.


Careless

*****

Disclaimer: *Looks in mirror* Nope, still not Chris Carter.

*****

As soon as I step off the elevator, I hear shouting coming from the X-Files office. Scully's in trouble! I run to the office and as I fling the door open I hear her say, "Bill! Shut up. I _couldn't_ care less about Mulder. It's impossible!" just before she slams the phone down.

I stand in the doorway for a moment, frozen in shock. There's so much running through my mind right now, it's not even funny. Scully doesn't care. It was an act all along. Scully doesn't care. She's not my friend. Scully doesn't care. She's not on my side. Scully doesn't care. She only cares about the work. Scully doesn't care.

SCULLY DOESN'T CARE!

I run. "Mulder, wait!" she yells, trying to catch up with me. But her legs are shorter than mine, and her shoes are much less practical. I outdistance her easily and while she's searching for me in another part of the building, I sneak back down to the basement and take the elevator back up to the main level and leave, not bothering to go to the parking garage for my car. She's bound to look for me there. She'll want to find me so she can say something that she thinks will pacify me so we can just get back to life as usual. Sorry, Scully, not this time! No matter what my reputation in the Bureau is like these days, I'm still the one who's technically in charge of the X-Files. You're getting transferred as soon as I can muster the strength to speak. Almost seven years. I can't believe you managed to fool me so long.

I guess I should've known when I told you that I loved you, and your only reply was, "Oh, brother". I should've realized it when I kissed you at midnight this year and you wouldn't say anything until I'd made some inane comment about the world not ending. I should've known it from the beginning, when I only held you because you threw yourself into my arms, grateful that the mysterious marks on your back turned out to be nothing more than mosquito bites.

Bill Scully was right. I _am_ a sorry son of a bitch.

I wander aimlessly around DC for awhile, occasionally hopping a bus until I realize I've subconsciously made my way to my own neighbourhood in Alexandria. Funny, I'd half expected that I'd go to Scully's, since I tend to wind up there whenever I'm hurt, lonely or just plain bored. But I guess that even my subconscious knows that Scully's home is out of bounds now. I may as well just call in sick and tell them that's why I left so early today—it's late January, so I haven't used up much of my sick time yet this year—and wallow for awhile. It's not like I'd be able to get any work done today. Absently, I notice that my heart is pounding from all the brisk walking I've done in the last couple of hours; it's got to be a minor miracle that it's still beating at all. I thought Scully had broken it when she told her brother that she couldn't care less about me.

Scully doesn't care. I hadn't expected a declaration of love, of course, but I hadn't expected cold indifference, either. I thought that after all we've been through and everything we've done for each other, I'd at least earned a place in her heart as a friend.

I don't cry when I finally sink down onto my battered old couch. I'm too tired to cry. I just stare at the ceiling, not really aware of anything but the fact that Scully, the apparent love of my life, doesn't care.

*****

I am going to kill Mulder when I finally get my hands on him. Or kiss him. Or maybe both.

Bill called the office this morning. We got into a pretty bad argument at Mom's this Christmas and ended up reverting to our childhood habit of giving each other the silent treatment for the rest of the holiday. So when he called, it was supposedly to apologize for the things he said, but he was expecting an apology from me as well. As if I would give it to him! What he said about Mulder, the X-Files and my determination to stay with both is unforgivable, and I will _not_ apologize for standing up to my bully of a brother. I know he only wants what's best for me, but I was old enough to decide what that was for myself a long time ago, thank you very much. Not even Dad, who never really approved of my decision to join the Bureau, presumed to tell me what I should be doing with my life once I left for university.

So Mulder barged in on a highly unpleasant discussion which ended in me saying something that I know he immediately took the wrong way, since he has no idea of the context in which it was made. He ditched me—AGAIN—without letting me explain, which left me to tell Skinner that I'd sent Mulder home because he wasn't feeling well, which was probably almost the truth. I got through the day's paperwork as thoroughly and quickly as I possibly could, since Skinner refused to give me the day off as well, and as soon as I was able I went off in search of Mulder.

So here I am at Mulder's apartment, the second-last place on my list of places to check when my crackpot, albeit brilliant, partner gets upset about something and takes off on me. I don't even bother to knock, using my key to gain entry.

He's lying asleep on the couch. I think I see tear tracks on his face. Oh, Mulder, I'd hoped that by now you would know better than to jump to conclusions about what's going on when I'm talking to my idiot brother!

Quietly, being careful not to wake him, I kneel beside the couch and gently touch my lips to his.

*****

He feels something warm pressing on his mouth. Tentatively, his lips part as he starts to feel a sort of tingling warmth spread throughout his body, returning the kiss as well as he can in his half-sleeping stupor. _Scully,_ he thinks, smiling inwardly as one hand comes up to stroke her hair.

Scully.

Immediately, he wakes up the rest of the way. He pushes her away, glares at her and sits up. "What are you doing here?" he asks, coldly.

She regards him with a solemn look on her face. "I've come to explain, Mulder. Please hear me out."

"Oh, please! Don't pretend that there's any good explanation for what I heard in the office this morning!"

"There is," she assures him. "What did you hear, exactly?"

"You know what I heard."

"Humour me."

If looks could kill, she'd be on her way to a morgue by now. As it is, she's pretty shaken by the anger she sees in his eyes as he asks, "Why should I? You don't care. You never cared. It was an act the whole time! Well, it's over, Scully. As soon as I get to the office tomorrow morning, you're being transferred out of the X-Files. I do not need a partner who doesn't need me."

She smiles slightly. "But I _do_ need you, Mulder."

He snorts. "I don't believe you."

She takes a deep breath and looks him in the eye. "What you heard was me telling my bully of an older brother that I was in love with you and that caring for you, caring about you, any less than I do now just wasn't an option. If you'd heard the rest of the argument, Mulder, you'd have known that."

"You just don't want to lose your job," he says, but his heart isn't in it. His gaze drops to the floor.

She slides up onto the couch, her knees protesting slightly at the movement after being knelt on for so long. "No, it's not about the work. I don't want to lose _you_." She's somewhat reassured when he doesn't edge away from her. "I brought the tape from the phone recorder with me in case you needed proof. I love you, Mulder."

She holds her breath as she waits for his reply.

*****

**Author's notes:** One of my biggest linguistic pet peeves is the way that people mangle the phrase "I couldn't care less", saying "I COULD care less" instead. I had the idea for this story when I'd heard this particular verbal blunder a few too many times in one day and got to thinking about other ways in which the correct phrase could be used.

Now, this may be my first X-Files fanfic, but it's not by any means my first fic ever. If you liked it, that's fine. If you didn't, that's also fine. If you decide to tell me what you thought of it, that's great. :) Be warned, though, that flames will be deleted and/or used for roasting marshmallows.


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